


in our hands

by alderations



Series: Whumptober/Mechtober 2020 [13]
Category: High Noon Over Camelot - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mechtober, Sacrifice, Whumptober 2020, basically just what if brian was there at the end of hnoc in a more hands on way, comfort is a stretch but uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations
Summary: Because fate loves to mock Brian, a stray shot splinters the rope holding him to the gallows, and he crumples onto the platform. He hasn’t moved in so long that it takes him a few minutes even to remember how, and by the time he rolls over and gets his knees under himself, the battle in the wasteland outside of town is over.(Whumptober Day 13: oxygen mask; Mechtober Day 13-15: HNOC)
Relationships: Drumbot Brian & Mordred (High Noon Over Camelot)
Series: Whumptober/Mechtober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950916
Comments: 11
Kudos: 82
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	in our hands

Because fate loves to mock Brian, a stray shot splinters the rope holding him to the gallows, and he crumples onto the platform. He hasn’t moved in so long that it takes him a few minutes even to remember how, and by the time he rolls over and gets his knees under himself, the battle in the wasteland outside of town is over.

Despite the centuries he’s spent strung up in Camelot, Brian barely saw the ghouls before now, and he’s surprised to find that he’s not really sure which bodies are which in the carnage before him. The dichotomy of bullet wounds and lacerations helps a bit. Still, his heart hammers in his metal chest as he does his best to avoid stepping on corpses, searching for familiar faces with dread sinking as deep as the sand between the seams of his plating.

Most of the faces on the ground aren’t recognizable at all.

Once it becomes clear that he can’t walk any farther without trampling the dead, Brian turns back to look for survivors. Surely there are children in town? As he picks his way between the buildings, calling out as loudly as he dares, the ground lurches under him and then starts to rumble at a frequency that makes his legs shake.

He knows where this is going. Why did he think he could ever change the future when it was written into what little humanity he had left? Before long, the heat will grow too powerful to ignore, and even if he finds any survivors of the massacre outside town, he’ll just have to watch them melt. But the station  _ moved,  _ it’s not just continuing along its decaying orbit, so they must’ve found the GRAIL after all. Brian stumbles off toward the town hall, desperation renewed by the possibility that at least one of the Pendragons made it back.

Of course, he throws the door open to find two of their lifeless corpses bleeding out into the rust. Arthur is nowhere to be seen. Behind the round table, his back to Brian, a bloodied figure hunches over the console, shaking and rocking in place until Brian’s clanging footsteps make his presence known.

Mordred turns to face him, cheeks smeared with blood and eyes utterly hollow.

“Hey,” Brian says softly, before he rushes forward and falls to his knees in front of Mordred. The kid looks awful, caught between sobs and barely able to keep his eyes focused on Brian. “Hey, are you with me? It’s me. Um, B—Merlin.”

The red-rimmed eyes staring out of Mordred’s gaunt face don’t show a hint of recognition, but he nods all the same. “Yeah. What do you want?”

“Are you… uh… where’s Arthur?”

Mordred’s lip trembles as he points to the empty chute leading out down into the floor and, therefore, out of the station. Brian recognizes it as the channel that connects the town hall to the captain’s quarters and, beyond, the escape hatch. “Oh,” is all he can manage.

“He’s gone.” Pushing his chair back from the console, Mordred turns to face Brian more fully and crosses his arms over his chest and tips his chin up, defiant even through the tears staining his dark skin. “Seems fitting to have a survivor, at least. I don’t… I don’t want all of this to have been… in vain.”

Brian opens his mouth to say that there will  _ always  _ be a survivor, that he’s immortal, but the words catch in his throat. After all these years, the cold fire in Mordred’s eyes might be the thing to shatter him. “You saved what was left of your family.”

“That’s one way to put it, sure.”

While Brian perches awkwardly on the edge of the round table, Mordred opens a compartment under the control panel and pulls out a dusty old oxygen mask, then fits it to his face with practiced ease. It makes sense, Brian figures; the holder of the GRAIL needs to be able to survive all the myriad dangers of Fort Galfridian, but it’s a laughable measure given that they’re spiralling into the fucking sun. Now that he thinks of it, Brian can feel the heat souring and warping the air around them, making the blood on Mordred’s arms swirl and trickle between beads of sweat.

“What did you do?” he asks as non-threateningly as he can.

Still, Mordred bristles. “Changed course.”

“You… we’re falling into the sun, aren’t we.”

A nod. Mordred has stopped crying, and instead he just stares at Brian with open defiance that he’d respect in most situations. “Galahad might’ve been out of his mind,” he says, “but this place—it is doomed. Always has been. I was a fool for imagining anything else.”

Brian’s all-too-human heart breaks. “It’s not too late. You can turn us around, and—and—there must’ve been survivors. Other groups, outside of Camelot. We could—”

“No,” Mordred cuts him off. “You don’t understand, hanged man. This station can’t go on any longer. Even if we got away from the sun, broke orbit, they’d just keep killing each other. I can’t  _ watch  _ that again. Much less be part of it.”

He’s reaching for the gun at his hip, and Brian really doesn’t want to aggravate him any more, not after everything he’s been through today. Raising his hands and leaning back toward the table, Brian concedes. “I know. I… every future I’ve seen says the same.”

“Cryptic. Thanks.” Mordred’s voice is muffled through the oxygen mask, but it  _ almost  _ sounds sarcastic, and Brian fights down a smile. He’s grown awfully fond of this kid, just watching upside down from the center of town.

So as they grow closer and the heat gets too intense for humans to withstand, Brian smooths the hair from Mordred’s forehead and sings to him, just like Mordred did for Arthur hours before. His breath rattles in his chest, eyes hazy and lost, but his resolve never fails, until at last he dies in Brian’s arms. Brian tries to pry the GRAIL from his hands, to turn the station around in case anyone else is left alive, but the automated voice just tells him that  _ a Captain has been chosen. _

Alone, Brian waits for the sun to consume him.

**Author's Note:**

> look. look. does it make sense for Mordred to put on a fuckin oxygen mask when he's plunging into the sun? absolutely not. the prompts were kinda super specific and random today, I worked with what I had.
> 
> in other news, I listened to Once and Future King like 4 times while brainstorming this, so I'm currently recovering from THAT psychic damage. See you all tomorrow once I figure out who to hurt next. Huzzah! I might genuinely start a spreadsheet so I can make sure I'm distributing the Pain evenly between all the mechs. Brian, as my favorite, is definitely taking the brunt atm.
> 
> goodnight ily all pls comment


End file.
